Crush the Size of Jupiter
by lovelunarchron
Summary: Unconnected Cresswell one-shots, both in canon compliant and AU. Part 1: Two-year anniversary skydiving. Part 2: Cress is sure the house is haunted. But what does the ghost want? Part 3: Cress and Thorne on a routine letumosis drop. Part 4: Pirates. UPDATED WITH PART 5: Post-canon, married Cresswell gets a blast from the past...sort of ;)
1. Chapter 1

_1\. skydive_

* * *

In the two years that they'd been together, Carswell Thorne had grown accustomed to Cress having some pretty outlandish ideas. Though her initial excitement at Earth had toned down a notch, she was still overflowing with thoughts about what sorts of things they should experience together. It didn't matter if they'd both already experienced it on their own, Cress wanted them to do it again. Together.

Okay, it was kind of cute and made him feel useful and needed, but sometimes her ideas were a little tiring for someone who was perfectly fine with just kicking back and relaxing. Almost an entire year of traveling around the world had worn him out.

So when she suggested that they skydive together for their upcoming two-year anniversary, he wasn't exactly thrilled.

"Cress, we fell out of a satellite together. How could you possibly want to plummet towards Earth again?"

She beamed. _Typical._ "It was so romantic!"

"Falling to our death is romantic now? You were terrified!"

" _You_ were knocked out, so you would hardly know what was going through my mind during the fall."

He just shook his head, part amused, part disbelieving at his girlfriend who was still looking as though it were the best proposal she'd ever made.

"Oh come on!" she said, mock-pouting. He hated that look. It made him cave into whatever she wanted and that kind of power was not okay. "It's our anniversary. How could we not relive the first time we met?"

"Should we invite Cinder? Maybe she can gag and bind you, then glamour herself to look like you and Sybil before we jump. More authentic that way."

"Stop being so silly. This will be beautiful. You didn't get to experience the fall with me the first time."

"The part of it that I did experience was enough for me."

"I dragged you under the bed and held on to you tightly the entire time."

His lips twitched. She had not shared this part of the crash before. He tried to imagine her clutching him in fear, sobbing into the strong, manly chest of the stud she'd fantasized about for so long. He broke into a grin and brushed a finger across her cheek. "Fine. If that's what you want for our anniversary, we'll do it."

-o-

Thorne breezed through the instructional hour, bragging to the one human employee that he was the renowned Captain Carswell Thorne. _Yeah,_ that _Captain Carswell Thorne_. _From the Lunar Resistance._ He owned his own spaceship and this poor guy was stuck on Earth on a small hover.

Cress's jumpsuit nearly drowned her, which was so adorable that it made him want to bundle her up in a blanket and cuddle with her. He still had to catch himself whenever he had thoughts about that sort of thing, because it was also not okay for anyone to look that cute. It was good, then, that there wasn't time for such things with the task at hand.

His own jumpsuit was a little too snug in certain places, and he hated the way the harness made everything bunch up. Cress giggled and brushed off his complaining, so he sucked it up and decided to compliment her on how cute she was instead. It was important to be sweet on one's anniversary, after all.

Before they got on the hover, they helped each other strap on the little android packs that regulated their parachute release times and safety backups in case of failure. Though he knew it was reliable, his stomach tightened into a little knot that he hid by giving Cress an enthusiastic thumbs up. She squealed and took his hand and they got on the hover.

Cress babbled the entire way up about their relationship, but Thorne wasn't really listening. Why did he feel like he was suddenly afraid of heights when he took hovers all the time? He captained a spaceship, for stars' sake, and he loved looking down at the _great blue planet_ —as Cress liked to call it.

He tightened the straps on his pack with one hand and his grip on Cress's hand with the other. She took his squeeze as a sign of encouragement and dazzled him with one of her gorgeous smiles.

"I love you so much."

He swallowed and smiled back. "I love you too. Happy anniversary."

Before he was ready, they were lining up at the opening of the hover and they were securing their goggles and earpieces. The android counted down in their ears and he braced himself against the wind.

"Catch me if you can!" squealed Cress. Then she threw herself out of the hover. He could hear her screams of joy through his earpiece.

Eyes widening and face paling slightly, he gave himself a nanosecond pep talk. _This was going to be easy. He had survived a satellite plummeting to Earth. Cress would not show him up._

He raised his arms in the freefall position and dropped out of the hover.

The wind hit his face and he was falling, falling, falling.

The first ten seconds made his stomach flip-flop and up became down, Earth became sky. But after the initial swooping sensation subsided, it didn't feel at all like he remembered from the falling satellite. Instead, he was flying. He turned his arms as he had been instructed and tried to dive to catch up with Cress.

He hoped her android's camera was taking flattering pictures of him from underneath. Cress would surely put them on her port later. Anniversaries—and basically any occasion at all involving the two of them—he'd learned, needed to be documented thoroughly.

"Do you like it, Cress?" he shouted.

There was slight static and then he heard her through the earpiece again. "I'm freeeeeeee!"

"Twenty seconds until parachute deployment, Sir," said the crisp android voice.

Thorne positioned himself as the android instructed. He saw Cress's yellow parachute open below him and she shot upward and past him when it caught against the wind. A beat later his own opened and the strings pulled against the harness on his legs. And then he was climbing up too.

He yanked on his strings and guided the parachute over to Cress. She reached out her hand for him, a glorious smile on her face beneath her dorky goggles. He held out his own hand, but the androids quickly alerted them that their parachutes could tangle and they could not get any closer.

They talked the rest of the way down, mostly about the view and how Cress could see the world from a whole new perspective.

He didn't think it looked so bad from up there either.

They both landed at the same time, Cress disappearing in a mess of billowing yellow nylon some fifteen meters away from him. He unhooked himself from his own parachute and sprinted over to her to make sure she was okay.

He unearthed her, but she pulled him down on top of her, laughing hysterically.

"Someone is a little _too_ excited, I think," he said playfully.

Her laughter died down and she considered him. "You know, one of my first thoughts after we had crashed was that two people who had survived such a daring escapade should probably kiss."

"You would," he said, rolling them over. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to entertain that _excellent_ thought at the time, Miss Darnel."

Her hair fell into his face as she leaned closer to pull off his goggles. "Never too late for a second chance, Captain Thorne."


	2. Chapter 2

_2._ _ghosts_ _(AU)_

* * *

Cress did not appreciate Mrs. Sanford's old house one bit.

The cobwebbed corners, angles, and archways around the first floor had been enough to creep her out. The fact that they had been the home of the fourteen disgusting spiders she'd valiantly killed hadn't helped either.

But the porcelain doll collection on display was the worst of it. Each of the little white faces stared at her with sickening makeup and unnaturally long eyelashes. The thought of how they looked with the light on made her glad she had switched them off. She shuddered and buried her body into her blanket, telling herself that if she couldn't see them they couldn't see her.

The grandfather clock on the other side of the room kept her from falling asleep. Every half hour that it tolled, she nearly jumped out of her skin, making her regret her decision to turn off the the lights and perhaps want to take her chances with the dolls. Grumbling, she rolled over again, wishing that she had brought her earplugs.

But as she moved she heard it again:

 _Creak._

She'd heard four creaks in just the last thirty seconds and she was not doing a very good job at ignoring them.

 _It's nothing_ , she told herself. _This old house is just spooky and you're just getting yourself worked up for nothing._

Another creak, long and whiny this time.

Then consecutive ones: one, two, three, four, five, like footsteps—

Cress's eyes shot open, her heartbeat escalating. "H-hello?"

There was another creak muffled by an _uummph_ and a groan. Cress frantically turned her phone's flashlight on. Hand trembling, she held it up, squinting into the room. Only the dolls grinned at her from their spot on the shelves.

She was imagining things. She was definitely imagining things.

 _No, there was definitely something in the kitchen!_

Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars. There was a ghost in the house. Of course there would be. Mrs. Sanford was definitely the type of person who would lie about a ghost being in her house.

Maybe _Mrs. Sanford_ was a ghost!

Shaking now, she tried to calm down her over-active imagination. A friend when she was bored, it only accelerated her heart rate now at the possibility of paranormal activity in the creepiest house on the block.

She told herself to think rationally. What could she use to protect herself?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. The one time in her life that she'd watched a horror movie had taught her well that ghosts were unstoppable. She would hide—yes. No, that wouldn't work. Ghosts could walk through walls. There was no hiding from them. She would just stay where she was and ignore it. The house was old and had its own personality and if the ghost was used to being here then it would go about its business and leave her alone.

She breathed in sharply, exhaled deeply. Repeated.

Cress only made it through her breathing routine four times. The clasp on the door that kept her room separated from the kitchen turned upward. She choked on her panic and thought of the scene in the movie _Hook_ when the pirates had opened the window from the outside, and how the children had disappeared afterward. Not quite a horror movie, but things hadn't turned out so great for them regardless.

Frozen in fear, she left the light from her cell poised at the door, mesmerized and panicked by the way it was opening on its own.

And then— the ghost stepped in.

Cress screamed, blood curdling from her veins, and dropped her phone. The room plunged into darkness. Suddenly unfrozen, she dove for it in the dark, scrambling to pick it up and call for help.

The ghost's hand connected with hers, and she flinched back at its cold touch, her screams turning to sobs. They were cut off immediately when a hand clamped over her mouth.

The arm connected to the hand pulled her against it—against the _ghost's_ body!—restraining her. She froze again, paralyzed in fear. She had seen this part in the movies. She was going to die.

"Calm down, please," said the ghost, moving the two of them in unison. It kicked at the floor and she heard something fly across the room—her phone? "Seriously, you need to calm down. You're hyperventilating. I'm not going to hurt you. Now shhh."

The ghost released her and she crumpled to the ground, barely able to make out its shape as it made its way across the room. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, unsure of how to proceed. A tiny light flicked on and she realized that the ghost was _turning on her phone_. Why did the ghost want her phone?

"Is-is there…technology…on the other side?" she asked dumbly.

"What?" said the ghost. He sounded like a male ghost. If there were such things. She wasn't sure.

"Why are you here?" she tried, trying to reclaim her thoughts.

"I could ask you the same thing," the ghost said, its male voice dripping with disdain.

"I-I live here," she stuttered.

"No, you don't," the ghost said. "A Mrs. Jeanine Sanford lives here. She's seventy-three." The ghost shone the light of her cell phone on her. "You are definitely not seventy-three."

Oh stars. The ghost was omniscient. Her fear almost turned to awe. Almost. The ghost clicked its tongue—did ghosts even have tongues?—as if irritated by her, and she shrunk back again. Then the ghost walked over to her, and with the phone held out in its hand, she could make out more of its shape.

Yes, it was definitely male.

It passed her and walked back to the kitchen door, then paused. "Is there anyone else in this house?"

"N-no."

The overhead light turned on. The ghost stood there, arms crossed, cell phone still in hand. It looked exactly like any other college boy she'd seen around campus. Unlike regular college attire, however, he wore only black, topping the look with a black beanie instead. Even with his irritated look, she was startled by his piercing blue eyes. A spine-tingling chill shot through her at the thought of one of her classmates dying and then haunting the vicinity of the school for the rest of his existence.

"You look…like a real guy." _A good-looking guy_ , she almost added.

He snorted. "As opposed to what?"

"I-I didn't mean to be rude. I've never seen a ghost before. Do you come here often?"

His face scrunched up weird and he pushed away from the wall. "Wait. You think I'm a _ghost_?"

She faltered. "Aren't you?"

He grinned, one of his cheeks relaxing into a dimple, and shook his head. "No, crazy." Then he spoke in a funny, high-pitched voice. "I'm a real boy!"

Cress just stared at him.

"Pinocchio? Nevermind."

Cress stood up slowly, realization and stupidity washing over her. There was also some initial relief at knowing that she was not in the presence of a spirit. She had been scared for nothing. That relief, however, began to fade when she started putting two and two together.

His outfit. Sneaking around in the dark. Her alone in the house.

Her nerves spiked again. "What are you doing here, then?"

"Robbing the house, naturally. What are you doing here?"

"R-robbing?" She bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. Now she was scared for a completely different reason.

He pocketed her cell phone and approached her, studying her intently. She backed away from him as quickly as possible, but the back of her legs collided with the couch and she sank into it.

"Good," he said. "Stay there."

She hugged her knees into her chest. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Of course not. Stop saying stupid things and tell me what you're doing here."

A prick of anger rose defiantly in her. She crossed her arms. "Why?"

He groaned. "First screamy girls, then ghost nonsense, now questions! I want to know why you're here because this house is supposed to be empty for the next three nights."

"I'm house-sitting while she has her surgery."

"Perfect," he muttered. "Why aren't you sleeping upstairs in the bedroom like a normal human being?"

"Um, this is my first night here. I was a little creeped out. I figured if she had all these dolls just in her living room then I didn't want to find out what was upstairs."

He gawked at her. "You're actually serious, aren't you?"

Cress pulled her blanket tighter. "You cannot deny that this house is creepy."

He finally looked around the room as if noticing it for the first time. Then he shook his head and turned back to her. "Well, if you could have just overcome your little _fear_ "—he made mock quotation marks in the air—"then I would have been able to get in here without you noticing and my night wouldn't be ruined."

He looked at her as though he owned the place, which reminded her that he didn't, and that her fear wasn't stupid at all. In fact, out of the two of them, she was the one whose night had actually been ruined.

Scared to death.

Assaulted by a ghost-boy.

Robbed.

 _Oh no_. if he went through with his plans, then she wouldn't get paid. And even worse—he had her phone. It was only two weeks old and she hadn't even activated the location tracker yet.

"Can I have my phone back?"

"No."

"I want it back."

"You're just going to call 911."

Jaw set, she dropped the blanket from her shoulders and stood up. Unfortunately, he was at least a foot taller than her, so she had a slight disadvantage. She narrowed her eyes; he rolled his in turn. Then she attempted a jump-kick. He didn't budge; she fell to the floor.

He bent down and held out his hand to her. "That was pathetic."

Face flushed, she clenched her fists and squatted into another positon she'd seen Campus Security demonstrate during her freshman orientation last year.

He only raised one eyebrow. "Your attempt to disarm me is adorable."

" _Give me my phone_."

"Okay," he said, and she relaxed slightly. He fished it out of his pocket, but held it out of reach. "I see that this device is quite valuable to you. How about we make a deal?"

"Absolutely not."

"You haven't even heard the deal."

"I'm not making any deal with a thief."

He just shrugged. "Too bad. It involved you getting back your phone."

She clenched her fists tighter and tried to gage whether or not he might have a knife or a gun. Considering that he was still toying with her, probably not. Then again, she could never be sure. "Let's hear it then."

"How much are you making for your baby-sitting job?"

"House-sitting."

"How much are you making?"

"$200."

He whistled. "Nice. All you have to do is stay here?"

"With the creepy dolls."

"Here's the deal. You give me half of what you're making, and I'll give you back your phone."

Her mouth dropped open. "No way!"

He put the phone back in his pocket and smiled apologetically. "Your loss. This thing will probably make me at least $300 once I dissemble it and sell it on Ebay."

Cress could not believe his nerve. What other choice did she have, besides running? "Fifty bucks," she said.

"Seventy-five. I won't even steal anything from Mrs. Sanford."

"Sixty."

"Seventy."

"Fine!"

He laughed. "See, that wasn't so hard now, was it? Win-win."

Cress felt like she would cry. "It's not a win-win for _me_. You're running off with my money!"

"I'm saving you, actually. It's quite considerate of me, rather than spiriting you off into the underworld like you originally thought."

Cress sat back down in the couch, glaring. "You're a terrible thief."

To her surprise, he sat down too. "What? I'm a criminal mastermind."

"Uh-huh. If you were, then you should be able to enter through a second-story window, not just waltz in the front door like everyone else."

"I picked a lock!"

"Whoa, big deal."

"I made you think I was a ghost!"

She sunk into the cushion. "You got lucky," she said irritably.

She began to wonder why he was still there. His presence made her nervous and annoyed, but the way he just sat there made it seem like they were old friends instead of a thief and unwilling victim.

"Hey! I will prove to you that I am a criminal mastermind. Let's go upstairs." She swallowed hard, not only at the thought of going upstairs with a guy she didn't know, but also at the idea of venturing into a different room in the house. "You're scared!" he exclaimed.

"Am not," she said, standing up and crossing her arms.

"Well I'm going. Might as well see if there's anything valuable up there. Whether you come or not is your choice."

He left her standing in the living room and she heard more creaking—he was going upstairs! She mentally argued with herself: either go upstairs and make sure he didn't steal anything, or run away and try to find a neighbor who could call the police on him.

The second option guaranteed that she would never see her phone again. She tried to ignore the guilt at the fact that she was more concerned with technology than her own safety, but he did seem harmless. After all, he could have hurt her before. And what kind of thief told people that he was in the act of robbing a house, let alone stopped to have a conversation during the act?

Certainly not a seasoned one. This was probably his first job.

Gritting her teeth, she ran out to the kitchen and bounded up the winding, spiral staircase. She caught up with him, already prowling around in one of the bedrooms, and yanked him back by his black shirt.

"Hey!" he said, scowling. "You're going to rip my shirt."

"Let's get this over with," she replied. "Let's see you escape through a second-story window."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They glared at each other, but then he broke into another one of his carefree smiles. She hated that she still thought he was good-looking. Why did the cute ones always have to be the bad ones?

"I'm going to find you, you know," she said, as he messed around with the old window, trying to urge it upward.

"I…look…forward…to that," he grunted, and the window gave way and slid upward.

"I'm _excellent_ at locating people online," she continued.

The guy was lifting the screen up now, but he glanced at her over his shoulder. "So you're a stalker."

She blushed. "No, I'm just good with computers."

"Aw, you're probably the type of girl who spends her time looking up cute guys like me, aren't you?"

"Don't make me push you out that window."

"Just admit it. You're intrigued. How _does_ he do it, you must wonder. Hot, charming, and mad skills."

She ignored him. "What assurance do I have that you'll give me my phone back if I give you the money?"

"Guess you'll just have to trust me."

"I don't."

"Shame."

He swung a leg over the ledge but Cress stopped him. "Wait! If you go out the window, you'll just run away with my phone. I'm meeting you down there."

"Better hurry."

She did hurry—she flew down those stairs, nearly slipping down half of them in her socks and burst out the front door. He was already hanging from the window sill with both arms by the time she got there.

"When I land this, the price goes up to $80," he called.

He swung his legs back and forth for momentum and then threw himself at the vines a few feet below the ledge that crawled up Mrs. Sanford's house. Then it all happened in slow motion:

His hand connecting with the vine.

It slipping through his grasp.

And then the fall.

He yelled out a string of curses, arms flailing, and Cress's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in terror. The rose bush below him broke his fall, though the painful cry that escaped him didn't make her believe that the thorns had been a good cushion.

She sprinted over to find him lying there, legs protruding but the rest of his body obscured. He was moaning, but the second she appeared he shut up.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I think I broke my body," he said in a strained voice.

"Can you move?"

"Ughh," he said, but he moved his arms and legs and attempted to roll to the side, which didn't really help his situation.

She breathed a sigh of relief; at least he wasn't paralyzed.

He slowly escaped the clutches of the rose bush, but when he emerged he had thorns stuck all over his body. "Help a guy out," he said, wincing as he pulled out the little spikes.

Cress pulled out two thorns before she reached into his pocket and stole back her phone.

He didn't even try to protest.


	3. Chapter 3

_3\. first name basis (post-canon)_

* * *

 **Prompt:** "Thorne and Cress using each other's full/real names when they're being flirty or in a fight (Cress gets really into it and uses it as a tactic) Bonus: Thorne gets super creative with pet names much to Cress' s delight"

* * *

"Can you watch the GPS? We're heading into Buenos Aires and the skies are crowded. Don't want to miss any important turns."

Cress glanced at the control panel of their podship and sighed. They had been flying for over two hours in a rapid descent from the Rampion, still in orbit, to deliver their last batch of letumosis antidotes. It was late and she was tired of flying and tired of traveling nonstop from city to city for the last year. The only thing on her frazzled mind was getting those antidote vials into the hands of the government officials so they could take a break and sight-see.

And catch up on sleep.

 _Stars_ , she wanted to sleep.

"Fine," she grunted, annoyed that Thorne was too lazy to type in their destination. Cress maneuvered her hands over the keys and entered it in a heartbeat.

Then she closed her eyes, knowing that they would be on solid ground in less than fifteen minutes.

Twenty-five minutes later, Cress's eyes snapped open. Thorne was singing along to a song and doing that little wiggle thing with his shoulders that usually made her giggle. Except when she noticed their location on the GPS, it only made her narrow her eyes.

"Um, where are we?"

"You tell me," Thorne said with a smile when he had finished the refrain. "You're the one in charge of navigation."

"Excuse me?"

The tone of her voice made the smile slip off of Thorne's face. "You said you would watch the GPS."

"Watch the GPS? What is there to watch? You just turn when it tells you to turn. All I did was put in the destination."

" _You_ were supposed to tell me when to turn."

Cress glared at him. "Are you telling me that because I didn't say anything, you completely ignored the instructions of the GPS?"

He shrugged. "I was singing. I put the GPS on mute."

"Aces! You're the one _flying_! How can you possibly think it's responsible to not pay attention to where you're going while you're in the middle of a city?"

Thorne leaned to the right to look out the window, making the podship tilt slightly in the same direction. Cress loosened the straps on her harness and pushed herself onto her knees. She saw nothing but mountains.

"I don't think we're in the middle of a city anymore," said Thorne nonchalantly, avoiding her gaze.

Which he always did when he knew he was in trouble.

Because _oh_ , he was so in trouble.

"You have _got_ to be joking me, Carswell! We were in the middle of traffic!"

"Which you were supposed to be watching, _Crescent_."

"Don't you dare _Crescent_ me!"

"You _Carswelled_ me first!"

Thorne jerked on the controls and they veered to the right to go back towards the city, causing Cress—who hadn't strapped herself back in properly—to slam into the loose harness. She gasped for air, the bare skin of her shoulders cutting against the rough material. If only she hadn't worn that stupid sundress.

Thorne's hand shot out and tried to help her back into the seat, but as he leveled out the podship she flew back into the correct seating position naturally. She swatted his hand away. "Don't touch me."

He cursed. "I'm so sorry, Cress, I didn't realize you weren't strapped in!"

"You don't realize a lot of things, apparently. Like how to make sure you don't fly out of the city you're supposed to land in!"

She rubbed at her skin. It wasn't cut, but it burned. There were would be definite bruising there tomorrow.

" _Crescent_ ," he said through gritted teeth, but then saw her face and reconsidered. Took a breath. Put on an apologetic face. "Cress. Darling. Angel Face. Heart Eyes."

She glowered at him. How dare he try to win her over with his stupid pet names?

Thorne widened his eyes in a pleading look. Then he pouted. "Moon Swoon?"

Cress pressed her lips together. _She would not laugh, she would not laugh_. Thorne had come up with that one about three weeks into their relationship when he had decided that nothing interesting rhymed with Cress, and he absolutely needed a fun way to say her name. Discovering that her middle name was _Moon_ had brought such delight to his face.

Then he had called her Moon Swoon for the entirety of two days until she'd put an end to that nickname indefinitely.

Now he only used it when he was trying to make her laugh.

She knew it was his way of trying to get back on her good side.

"Carswell…" she said, a warning tone in her voice.

He grinned. "…and his favorite Shell."

Thorne blew a kiss in her direction and then pretended to swoon at the sight of her.

She rolled her eyes. "Just get us on the ground."


	4. Chapter 4

_4\. pirates (AU)_

* * *

 _Warning for some violence, crude language/descriptions, pirates having horrible intentions for women._

 _Rated T_

* * *

She cries out as she falls face-first onto the deck. The gag muffles everything but the pain. The musty, water-sodden wood cuts into her cheek as the captain shoves his boot onto the back of her head to keep her down.

"Ye like that smell, wench? Shall we use yer face to swab the deck?" He wrenches her back to her feet with a rough grab of her arm. It's tied behind her back and she swears something dislocates with the movement. "Or shall we use ye fer somethin' else?"

He presses her against him, his foul breath making her flinch back. There's a tug and a rip, and then a breeze hits her now-bare midriff. Her eyes widen only to see hunger cut through the captain's bearded, mocking face.

"Aye, Captain," says a starved voice that makes real fear bite into her. "Look at that pale, luscious flesh. Soft as a feather, I reckon."

The crew riles up even more as Jamal, the Captain's first mate, makes a vulgar gesture at them on her behalf. Cress heard him below deck only yesterday, swapping stories about the women he's overpowered and had for himself at the last port. The sparkle in his ferocious black eyes kept her awake at night while she huddled alone in one of the hammocks reserved for the lesser hands.

"Perhaps I want her fer me own," the captain growls, pulling Cress so close she can count four missing teeth. His grip on her arm will leave a bruise if she manages to make it to tomorrow.

"Now Nils," says Jina, making the protest on Jamal's lips die off, "you couldn't possibly want that skinny rat when you have all of this waiting for you in the captain's quarters." Though her voice is playful, Cress catches the stern look she gives the captain from the top of the quarterdeck.

"Just threatening the lass," says the captain, growling under his breath—perhaps so quietly that only Cress can hear. Then, to the crew he says, "Wench thinks she can stowaway on _The Rampion_ without consequence. Not on my ship!"

"Not on his ship!" echoes a crew member, only for the others to join in.

Jina takes her time coming down the deck. "Of course not, my love." Sneering at Cress, she says, "I'm the only woman on this ship. And I always will be."

Cress still can't place her accent, even after three days aboard _The Rampion_. It's more educated than the rest of the crew, making it seem like Captain Nils has picked her up on a stop along some exotic coast. The golden beads in her braided, thick hair complete the image Cress has in her mind. Though Jina may not have always been a pirate, she holds more power than any other man on board.

She controls Nils, so she controls the ship.

Cress tries to plead for help with her eyes. Surely another woman will understand, won't want this for her. She can save Cress from death—or worse.

But Jina's eyes only harden as she looks Cress over. "It's too bad your disguise as a boy didn't work out. It would have served you better than your life as a girl will now." She traipses away, but stops long enough to call over her shoulder. "Let Jamal have her. Then you can throw her overboard, if there's anything left of her."

Her comment delights the crew. Cress screams against her gag, unable to cling to bravery anymore.

Jamal is an animal.

Jamal is a monster.

Captain Nils pushes her back, away from him. She stumbles, sure she's meant to fall again, but calloused hands catch her. Hold her firm.

"Hello dearie," Jamal whispers into her ear.

It doesn't matter if her hands are bound behind her back. Cress thrashes in his arms, stomps her heels on his toes, tries desperately to get away.

His hold on her only tightens as she struggles until she manages to get in a kick behind her. Jamal grunts and lets go, and for a moment she thinks she's won, but with a _whack_ she's on the ground again. Then Jamal is climbing over her, raising his hand with a snarl on his face. "Ye think ye can get away from me?"

Cress pinches her eyes shut, readying herself for the blow.

It doesn't come.

She squints up against the afternoon sun to see the shadowed form of Jamal hovering over her. His outstretched hand is flat—ready to strike—but someone is holding it back.

"That's not very nice," her savior drawls, his voice cheery and nearly teasing.

"Let go of me, Thorne," Jamal growls.

"And if I do you'll hit the lass."

Cress's chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. A crew member dares defy the first mate? When Jina herself gave the command and the captain turned Cress over to him?

"I'm going to do more than hit her," he snarls.

"And ruin that bonny mouth?" says Thorne. He lets go of Jamal and squats down next to him. Cress can see him better at this angle. He peers at her with a sly grin. "Seems like a waste. Might come in handy later, mate, don't you think?"

The crew howls at that and Thorne seems to eat up their attention. Jamal's eyes rake over Cress, considering Thorne's words.

She wishes she could spit on them both. Instead, she turns her head and rests her cheek against the wood again. Her cut still burns, but it's better than trying to hold her head up to look at these two disgusting pirates.

"And speaking of things that come in handy later," Thorne continues, "I believe you still owe me after I beat you in Royals the other day."

"I said I'd get ye the coin next time we's on land. This ain't a time to be bringin' up them bets." Jamal puts one of his hands on Cress's bare waist. A traitorous tear rolls down her cheek.

"Actually, it is." Thorne grabs Cress's chin and forces her to look at them. His dark blue eyes cut into her like a knife but they are less menacing than the blackness of Jamal's hungry, hollow gaze. "I want this lass instead."

Jamal pushes Thorne's hand away, losing balance as he does. He steadies himself with the hand that's still feeling up her side, digging all his weight into her. She gasps into the gag, all the wind knocking out of her.

"This wench is mine, Thorne."

Thorne smirks, clearly undeterred. "7,429 univs, Jamal. That's a lot of coin for anyone, especially you. The captain don't pay us half that in a year."

When the crew begins to shout their opinions, Jamal rights himself, his knees still on either side of Cress, and glares at the crew. "What are ye bilge rats still doin' standin' around? Get to work before the captain or I have ye flogged!" To Thorne, he cuts the same glare. "What do ye want with this one, eh? She ain't yer type."

Thorne chuckles good-naturedly, but there's something sinister in the way his eyes roam lewdly over Cress. "Aye, but we'll be at sea for at least another month. You think I had my fill in them few days we spent at port? I'll take what I can get." His grin grows. "And I'm sure she don't look like a boy under them clothes."

Jamal falls silent again. Cress closes her eyes and prays for help—from a sea goddess, from the King's royal navy, from a siren. Thorne surely can't be as horrible as Jamal, but she knows that all pirates are the same at heart. They think of the sea and themselves first, taking and satiating their needs without a thought of who it destroys.

As she imagines herself with either of them, bile rises to her throat. She has to choke it back down or she'll suffocate. She'll beg for the plank before it's all over.

"The whole debt?" Jamal asks. "The whole thing for her?"

Thorne looks like he might reconsider. But slowly, he nods. "If I get your quarters for the week too."

Jamal's eyes narrow. "A week?"

"Aye. Can't do what I have planned for her in a hammock among the crew."

Cress's eyes bulge. A week! There will be nothing left of her.

And his smirk means he knows it too.

A monster for a monster.

"Three days. And ye ain't gettin' out of yer duties. A storm's a-comin', I know it."

Thorne glances out at sea, toward the horizon. "Aye, I'll do my duties."

Jamal spits in his hand and holds it out. Thorne spits in his own hand and shakes Jamal's firmly.

Cress wants to fight, but the energy wanes as they seal their deal. Jamal squeezes his knees against her sides before getting up, almost like a warning of what will happen if she misbehaves. "Don't be fooled by his bonny face. He plays dirty, this one." He pushes to his feet. "That'll teach ye to deceive a pirate. Ye can't beat us at our own game."

She barely has time to think before Thorne has her on her feet, handling her just as roughly as Jamal and the captain. He marches her starboard by the arm and she tries to dig her boots into the slippery wood to keep from moving.

"Ain't no use in resisting me," he says, his voice giving away his frustration as she grabs onto the rope behind her to prevent herself from going down through the scuttle. His hand pries her fingers off the rope. "You're half the size of me. I will overpower you. I already _have_ overpowered you."

"Having trouble, Thorne?" Jina calls sweetly from behind them.

"Not anymore," he mutters, then throws Cress over his shoulder. Her world tips upside down and she kicks but he merely places his hand over her legs to stop her. With her arms bound behind her, she can do nothing but wait helplessly for him to put her down.

Down through the scuttle they go and when he closes the hatch behind them the darkness encases her. For a brief moment, she thinks she might have a heart attack, being alone with her captor in the dark. But he makes a sharp turn and the lanterns that light the belly of the ship help her breathe again. All too soon, he stops and opens the door to Jamal's quarters.

Keys clink and seal her fate.

Then he's dropping her on the small bed.

She flops to the side the second she hits the blanket and swings her legs to sit up. Thorne's hands clamp down on her shoulders, keeping her from getting to her feet.

"Please," she says desperately, but with the gag it comes out like "Mmmph."

"Stop moving," he commands. "I'm going to take off your boots."

He kneels down, letting go of her shoulders, and Cress kicks. She nails him in the shoulder and he winces and grabs both of her legs forcefully before she can do it again. "Don't fight me," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to _help_ you."

Cress freezes, momentarily confused and caught off guard.

He glares at her as he circles his shoulder, working out the pain. "I'm trying to take your boots off because I know the _second_ I undo your binds you're going to run around trying to escape. I locked the door, by the way, but at least this way you won't make my new bed all wet and grimy with your boots."

He wrinkles his nose as Cress stares at him. It sounds like a trap.

 _He plays dirty, this one_ , Jamal said.

Thorne pulls off her first boot and though only her foot is exposed, she feels bare boned in front of him. But she lets him take off her other boot without trying to struggle. He said he would undo her binds next. If he does that maybe she has a chance to escape, even if the door is locked.

When he finishes, he stands up and reaches behind him, eyes never leaving Cress. He draws out a small dagger. She jumps, sure this is the part of the story where all the terrible things start.

"I need you to be still while I remove your gag," he says.

He reaches for her face and she flinches instinctively as the blade comes nearer. His grip tightens and she closes her eyes. The gag falls off her face though, without any pain, despite her initial panic.

She works her jaw. Tests if it still works after being locked in the same position for half a day. Her lips are raw and cracked from the cloth, tasting like rust on her tongue.

"I'm going to free your hands now," he says. "Then you can move as much as you want."

She sits still and tries to find her voice, but disbelief keeps her silent.

As he leans around her to reach her hands, one knee on the bed, the pendant on the necklace he wears spills out of his shirt, over the laces that are undone at the top. She tries to make out what's on it—it's somehow familiar—but she's already craning her neck to see, and then her hands are free.

Thorne quickly stuffs it back inside his shirt as she gingerly rubs her wrists. There's blood there too, from too much resistance against the three pirates who held her against her will.

No sooner than he's straightened up, Cress forgets her wrists and darts to the door. Finding that it's indeed locked, she pounds her fists against the wood.

"It's no use," says Thorne. "Where are you going to go? Back up to Jamal? Into the sea?"

Feeling utterly defeated, Cress turns to observe her prison better. Her captor sits on the bed, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. The dagger lays across his lap. He sees her glance at it and shoots her a smile. "Don't even think about it."

There are no windows, only a bed and a small door to the right of the bed. This is no captain's quarters, but if the first mate sleeps here, then perhaps there's a wash room behind it. The worst thing she can do is trap herself inside the wash room—at least here she has a few feet to work with. The ship rocks and creaks and the overwhelming sense of entrapment returns.

"I was expecting to you to scream more," he says, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "Surely you must have something to scream about after how you've been treated."

Cress stays where she is, her heart in her throat. Her parched, hoarse throat.

He's too calm. Why is his tone almost _pleasant_?

 _He plays dirty, Cress,_ she reminds herself. _He's only not attacking you because he knows you are trapped. He knows you have nowhere to run. He said so himself. He has you for three whole days._

She will claw his eyes out if that's what it takes.

But when has anything she's planned on this bloody voyage gone her way?

"Aces, are you mute?" he says, his brow furrowing. "That could put a kink in this plan. I could have sworn you were screaming when they caught you and dragged you up on deck." He frowns. "You're not mute." He gets up from the bed and approaches her, dagger in his hand. "Scream, or else I'll have to do something that makes you scream."

She darts away from him, but he lunges at her, trapping her in the corner.

Cress screams.

Thorne grins. "Thank you for joining the conversation." He moves his arms lazily around her so that she has nowhere to go unless she drops to the ground and crawls.

She can't believe he already has her.

"Listen," he says, speaking a little quieter now. She flattens herself against the wall as he drops his head to look at her. "We have to make this sound believable."

"W-what?"

Thorne's grin turns teasing. "You know." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Cress begins to tremble uncontrollably.

His grin drops immediately. "Wait, are you still scared?"

Teeth chattering, she sinks to the ground in front of his feet and wraps her arms around herself.

"Now don't go crying on me, lass. I thought we cleared this up. I'm _not_ going to hurt you."

She tries to hold back the tears, but it's impossible. Why is he playing these games? This is so much more cruel, the way he's trying to build up her hope. Maybe this is what Jamal meant. Pirates can deceive anyone.

"Perhaps we should start over." He pretends to tip an imaginary hat. "Carswell Thorne, at your service." Cress's mind spins. "I'm not really a pirate. At least, not a seasoned one."

He sits down on the bed with a sigh. "However, if we're going to get away with this, I'm going to need you to _pretend_ like I'm the rotten scoundrel them lads all think I am. You owe me that after I just saved your life from Jamal. And gave him my 7,429 univs."

Cress is still trying to stop her tears. Her body keeps shaking. Thorne, who's supposedly not a _seasoned_ pirate, sits there like he's waiting for her to join him.

"I think I'm going to have a heart attack," she finally says.

"You have nothing to be afraid in here, lass. I shan't touch a hair on your head." He grins, a dimple popping in on his cheek. "Unless, of course, you should be so inclined." He gestures at the bed with a wink.

"I—I have a-a choice?"

He scratches at his stubble again. "I think you may still be in shock. On second thought it might have helped to share this information with you before cutting off your binds. I thought it was obvious. Did you think Jamal would have done that?"

"You're really not going to hurt me? No…no pirate tricks?"

"Aye, lass, that's what I'm saying."

Fresh tears fall on her cheeks. "Thank you, C-Carswell."

He twirls the dagger in his lap. "That's Thorne to you, lass. Now stop them tears. The crew can't hear tears. I need a few loud, nervous screams."

Cress pulls her legs into her chest. She lets out a small scream, but her tears muddle it up.

Thorne leans back on his elbows. "This ain't working. But no matter, we got at least one good scream out of you earlier." He smirks at her. "We'll pretend I'm an excellent lover—well, ain't nothing to pretend about that—and I've already won you over."

Cress startles as Thorne throws his dagger at the door. It hits the wood with a _thunk_. Then Thorne jumps up and throws himself at the door. " _Ow_ ," he says, but he slams into it again and again, making a slow but loud rhythmic motion.

"It would help if you could at least offer up a different kind of scream now," he grunts, albeit quietly, "or a moan or two. Them lads are going to be listening."

Cress shakily gets to her feet, slowly catching up with what he's doing.

What he's pretending to do.

Thorne really isn't going to hurt her. In fact, he's protecting her from Jamal.

Now he's asking her to help him protect both their skins.

"Oh, stars above!" she cries, so loudly that Thorne trips and stumbles into the door instead of slamming into it. Their eyes meet and blood rises to her cheeks.

"That—that was great," he whispers. He pulls off his boots and runs onto the bed...

…and begins to _jump_.

The bed creaks almost as loudly as the ship, but at a faster rate. Every few jumps, he pounds his fist into the wall. He looks younger now, bouncing like a fool, his brown hair going up and down.

Cress sits down on the floor, back in her corner. She tugs on her shirt and pulls her knees into her chest, hoping to cover as much skin as possible. Now that she's less afraid for her life, she realizes how indecent she is.

Thorne keeps jumping.

"This is taking a really long time," she says.

"I have a reputation to keep up," he hisses. "And not just as a pirate."

She blushes profusely at his implications. She's heard some women speak about men like him, but he can't be much older than her, and wouldn't that make him the scoundrel he claims he's not?

Cress cups her hands around her mouth and lets out what she hopes sounds like an intense cry of pleasure.

Thorne stops jumping. "That was…well, fine, let's say, though it sounds like I killed you rather than…well, you know."

Cress can't bring herself to look at him.

"Right," says Thorne, with a final thump of his hand against the wall. "You've been through quite the ordeal. Now that that's taken care of, let me help you."

This makes her look up.

He jumps off the bed and disappears into the wash room. He returns with a bucket and a cloth. "Come sit," he says, pointing to the edge of the bed.

She hesitates and he shakes his head. "Ain't no chairs in here, lass."

But she glances down at her clothes with shame. He studies her, then looks like he's solved an enigma. Then he's pulling the blanket off the bed and dropping it around her shoulders. She wants to thank him but she doesn't know how.

A kind pirate has never shown up in her books.

Scoundrels who ruin the reputations of women do not help them cover up.

She knots the blanket above her chest. With the sleeves from her torn shirt, it looks like a ratty dress. But it's better than before, and she almost wants to trust him, so she shyly sits on the edge of the bed.

Kneeling in front of her, he dips the cloth into the bucket. "May I?" He gestures at her hands.

She holds out one of her hands, wrist up. He reaches out and holds onto it so gently that she can barely recognize him as the same man who hauled her downstairs before. He turns her hand over, revealing the gashes on the back from her binds. She hisses when he tries to dab it with the cloth.

"Sorry," he says, offering an apologetic smile. "It stings a little, but it's important."

"Thank you," she manages to say.

"Don't thank me," he says, continuing to dab and rub, occasionally wringing out the cloth and then dipping it in the bucket for clean water. "I'm sorry my crew did that to you." He moves on to her other hand. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. I had to act cruel so that they wouldn't suspect anything. Jamal was…well, not an option."

Though he doesn't look at her, she watches the way an angry glint appears in his eyes when he mentions Jamal.

When he presses the wet cloth against the cut on her cheek, it burns so much that she squints her eyes shut until he says, "What're you doing on a pirate ship, lass?"

"I need water," she says, finally brave enough to reveal the truth. She can't keep talking to him when she's dying of thirst.

"Ah," he says. "I'll have to go get some." He stands and begins to pull his shirt out of his trousers.

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping up appearances," he says slyly, untucking his shirt completely until it hits mid-thigh. He tousles his hair with a crinkle of his nose. Then he gives her a dopey grin. "Do I look sated?"

She blushes. "I wouldn't know."

His eyes soften, but he doesn't say anything. Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he begins to whistle and leaves the room, locking the door behind him.

Cress takes the opportunity to use the wash room, still unable to believe her turn of fortune. Perhaps one of her prayers has been answered, or the sea is simply showering her with a tide of luck.

She dabs at her lips with the cloth until the crusty blood comes off. She washes her face too, more thoroughly than he can, cringing at how it's smeared with salt and dirt after three days of no showers. She hadn't considered this factor when she decided to sneak onto the ship dressed like a boy.

She also hadn't realized that it was a pirate ship. _The Rampion_ had been commandeered by pirates a few years ago, she had learned, and that was why it was so full of grandeur. Unfortunately for her, the sleeping quarters had been converted into two large rooms for the crew. She had been lucky to have made it three days without being discovered.

There's a distinct jangle of keys and soon Thorne is back in the room. He doesn't bother her in the wash room, so she splashes more water on her face and runs her wet hands through her newly short hair. She misses her long, golden tresses and flowy skirts.

She opens the wash room door and steps back into the tiny room.

Thorne is sitting on the bed, legs crossed, biting off a big chunk from a roll. Seeing her, he raises his flask in the air, like he's toasting her. "I told the crew we wouldn't be dining in the galley tonight," he says, chuckling. After taking a swig, he holds out a tin cup for her.

 _Water._

She reaches for it instantly, then drinks, drinks, drinks until there not a single drop left. She hasn't had water for nearly half a day now, with her time in the hold and then up on deck. Thorne hands her an identical flask to his. "I filled this with water too."

After at least half of it is gone, she stoppers the flask and then sets it down on the bed, worried that if she doesn't ration it she might not get any more. She stands awkwardly by the side of the bed and watches Thorne eat.

"Come! Sit down!" says Thorne cheerily. "This our table now, lass."

He holds out some bread to her.

She sits at the edge, one leg dangling over the side, nibbling at the bread.

"Have you always had short hair?" Thorne asks after a while.

"No. I cut it three days ago before coming on the ship."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"The hair helps you look younger."

She nods.

"You got a name, lass?"

She wrings her hands. "Cress."

His lips tug into a crooked smile. "Cress."

Before he can ask any more questions, she decides to speak up. "If you're not a pirate, what are _you_ doing on a pirate ship?"

"Aye, that's a fair question." Looking sheepish, he scratches his chin. "Deserted my old post. Wanted to be the master of my own destiny, savvy?"

She nods again; she shares the same desire.

"Got myself into a spot of trouble one day. Might have faced the plank. I became a pirate that day instead, though the captain thinks I already was before that. It took quite the spot of luck."

"What did you do before that?"

"Royal navy."

She stops nibbling. "Wow. I've heard all about them. I can't believe I'm finally meeting someone from the royal navy—and on a pirate ship of all places! Oh, and this is why your accent is different from theirs, isn't it?"

Thorne raises an eyebrow. "Where are you from, exactly?"

"Artemisia."

"But the King owns Artemisia. They make port there all the time. Quite a few lads have found themselves a bonny wife in Artemisia."

"I wasn't allowed out much," she admits. "Especially around men."

"That why you were running away?"

She bristles. "Who said anything about running away?"

Thorne takes a long swig of his flask, but his eyes don't leave her. "Anyone who stows away on a pirate ship must be running away from something."

Her eyes drop to the bed. Tracing a finger over the white, rough sheet, she says, "What about you? What made you leave? Or was it just because of the pirates?"

Thorne just drinks more from his flask, then looks somewhere over her shoulder, deep in thought. She won't press him for more information; if he respects her silence, then she'll respect his. His hand drifts absentmindedly to the golden necklace around his neck.

"Can I see it?" she asks, somewhat shyly. "The pendant."

He considers her request, then pulls the pendant out from under his laces. Cress gasps when she sees it, recognizing it instantly from her history books. A swooping T with a curl at the edge, cut in half by a sword. "The Thorne family crest!"

Thorne tucks it away immediately. "You know it."

Stories of heroic warship battles fill her mind, and captain after captain right alongside them. She can't believe she hasn't made the connection sooner. "You can't be—but—are you the son of Captain Kingsley Thorne?"

"He's Commander Kingsley Thorne now," Thorne mutters.

"But _he's_ —you're a _pirate_!"

At that, Thorne chuckles. "Are you sure you're from Artemisia? I think I would have noticed someone like you at one of the balls."

Her eyes pop. "You were stationed in Artemisia?" As he nods, her eyes fall once more. "I've never been to a ball. As I said, I…was sheltered."

"They're boring," he says, waving away her comment.

"But the dancing!"

"Aye, lass, the dancing."

She beams merely at the thought of being at a ball.

"You can see why I want to be my own master," he says, tucking the pendant back out of sight. "The pirate thing is temporary, unless I can get my own ship. Then I'll be captain."

"Captain Thorne," she says, though it's hard to imagine him as anything but a pirate.

He perks up when she says the imaginary title. "My plan has always been to leave the crew behind. With you here, this speeds things up, but I think if we play it safe for the next three days we can still pull it off."

"Leave the crew behind?" Her heart begins to race again, but this time, out of excitement. "You—you would take me with you?"

"Who am I to leave a damsel in distress alone with a bunch of pirates?"

She smiles for the first time in three days. "But where will we go? We're surrounded by water."

He puffs up proudly. "Don't worry about the water. I'm a seafaring mastermind and I have a plan."

Just then, the ship gives a mighty rock, nearly throwing Cress off the bed. Thorne catches her by the arm before she tips over. They wait with baited breath to see if it will rock again, Thorne holding on to the end of the bed frame. Perhaps the storm Jamal mentioned has arrived.

But _The Rampion_ merely rights itself with a few mild undulations before giving way to peaceful waters once more.

"That's a good reminder," says Thorne, standing up and pulling on his boots. "Time for round two." He winks and blows her a kiss.

She groans.

Thorne goes to the door again, but instead of slamming into it this time, he just kicks rhythmically at the door with his boot. "More practical, less painful," he whispers, before letting out a sound that makes heat rush to Cress's cheeks. "Now, can you do that scream again, but make it sound a little more enjoyable this time?"

"My," she says, "you really do have a reputation to uphold."

"Aye, lass. And if you really were from Artemisia, you would know that."

* * *

 _ **Note:** This started out as something entirely different but I was partially inspired by Stardust and the original caravan taking Cress in canon and Thorne saving her (my babies!) and somehow it drifted into this. Kudos to moon-mirage for the idea of Cress being a stowaway. All pirate-y terms were taken from the pirateglossary website. Shiver me timbers!_


	5. Chapter 5

_5\. photograph (_ _ _post-canon)__

* * *

 _Rated T for married innuendo_

* * *

"Whatcha doin', Moon Swoon?"

Cress looked up from her portscreen with an eye roll, but couldn't contain the smile that crept on her lips. "Morning, Captain."

"Oh, Captain is it?" Thorne plopped into the couch next to her. "Must be a good morning if you're using that title."

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips in greeting, but Cress grabbed the strings of his hoodie before he could pull away. She loved the way he looked in the mornings, with his rumpled hair, cute pajama pants, and slightly groggy disposition. He smelled like the fabric softener on their sheets. She was the only one who got to see him this way before he perfected his look for the rest of the world. She let the portscreen fall to her lap and kissed her husband thoroughly.

Thorne was more than happy to reciprocate her eagerness. His hands found her hair and suddenly he was quite awake as their kisses deepened. Soon they were tangled up on the couch, with him lying on top of her and both of their breathing coming a little shallower. "Should we move this upstairs, Mrs. Thorne?" he asked as he grazed his lips against her jaw.

Cress stared into his blue eyes, thoroughly tempted. "I'd love to, but I'm in the middle of something. I just wanted a quick break from work to kiss my husband."

Thorne groaned and dropped his head onto her chest in defeat. She stroked his hair with a giggle. He seemed to like that and settled in like he might fall asleep on top of her.

"It's Saturday," he mumbled into her shirt. "Saturday _morning_. We agreed you wouldn't do any work this weekend. Do I need to call the Emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth and tell him to issue a cease and desist order for the world's best hacker? I've got him on speed dial."

"I'm not doing _work_ work. Here, let me show you."

She leaned down to grab her portscreen, which had fallen on the floor some time ago. It was a hard feat with Thorne on top of her, and eventually she had to push him up. He pouted, but moved to his side of the couch.

Cress snuggled against him so that both of them could look at her portscreen. He was quick to wrap his arm around her. She showed him the blueprints that were on her screen. "A couple months ago I was going through some of the old storage boxes in the Rampion and I found my old portscreen. I kept everything we investigated and planned pre-revolution on an encrypted chip. I shouldn't have kept it so long, I suppose, but I was paranoid that something else would happen."

"Like, another Levana?"

"No, more like maybe one of the Earthen leaders would accuse us of doing the wrong thing." She shrugged. "I was only sixteen. I just wanted to make sure our bases were covered."

"Maybe you were only sixteen, but you were still the most brilliant person in the galaxy." He kissed her temple.

"Thanks, but I think it's about time to delete these files. It's been ten years and all of us are considered heroes, so I think we're in the clear."

"So delete them. Or donate them to a museum or something. Hey, could we _sell_ any of it?"

She elbowed him. "I think we have enough money. And I am deleting them, but one by one. I want to make sure there isn't anything on here that we might want to keep, like a group photo."

"Did we take group photos?"

"There are definitely photo files on here. Right now, it's all blueprints of the Lunar Palace and such."

Thorne reached onto the screen and pushed the trashcan symbol. "Deleted."

Cress swiped to the next photo and for the next half hour or so, they took turns deleting their plans for overthrowing Levana. As they did, they spent time reminiscing over some of the moments they'd had together on the Rampion, in the desert, and even against a particular fern. The memories warmed Cress's heart, even more so knowing that four years after these pictures had been taken, the two of them would get married. Six years into their marriage, Cress couldn't believe how naïve she'd been back then about love and the world. The epic romance that she'd fantasized about for herself and Thorne had turned out completely differently. It was better — epic in its own, perfect way.

"Hey, who's that?"

Cress drew herself back into the present and focused on the photo. It was blurry — very blurry. All she could make out was a head of brown hair.

Something dropped in her stomach.

Thorne swiped to the next photo. "Wha—"

Cress sprang off the couch with the port and whacked her knee on the coffee table. "Ow, ow, ow."

While she was rubbing her knee, Thorne plucked the portscreen out of her hand.

"No! Don't look at those!"

Thorne only smirked and held the portscreen out of her reach. "Is this the part of our marriage where I learn that you downloaded naughty pictures?"

Cress crossed her arms. "They're not naughty. At least, not the way that you might think."

His eyebrow quirked up.

"Please, Thorne. It's super embarrassing."

But he was already looking at the portscreen.

"Wait," he said. "Is this _me_?"

Cress buried her face in her hands, already feeling heat burning her cheeks.

" _Aces_. Is that me in…" He paused.

She peeked at him through her fingers.

"…a towel?"

Cress dove for the portscreen. Her sudden movement caught him off guard and she managed to get it away from him. But he caught up with her as she tried to escape the living room, wrapping his arms around her in the semblance of a hug, but really preventing her from sprinting away.

They wrestled over control of the portscreen.

"These are pictures of _me_ , Cress!"

"But you were never supposed to see them!"

"We're married. I've seen _everything_."

"No, it was stupid—"

"I'm not gonna judge you—"

"I was sixteen and had a crazy crush—"

They tumbled onto the carpet and before long, Thorne had her pinned underneath him.

"No fair," she grumbled.

He sat back on his heels with his infuriatingly handsome smirk. "What's not fair is that you took secret pictures of me and then didn't show me."

Cress pressed her eyes closed and stayed where she was, lying flat on the carpet. "That's kind of the point of a secret."

He ignored her and kept thumbing through the photos. "In this one, it's so blurry you can only make out my calf. _Oh_ …. Well, at least in this one I'm fully clothed. Hey, Cress." She opened an eye and dared peek up at him. He turned the portscreen. In the picture, a ten-years-younger Carswell Thorne sat in the Rampion's captain's chair, a bandana hanging loosely around his neck. "When was this?"

She cringed. "It was the night you kissed me on the rooftop. After we rescued Kai."

His smirk only deepened. "I look pretty dapper."

Cress's stomach was turning upside down on itself. She had completely forgotten about these pictures. She had encrypted them back then, of course, so no one but her would ever be able to find them. And now she'd gone and shown them to Thorne all on her own.

"Carswell," she said quietly, "I'm really sorry. When we first got on the Rampion, I still couldn't believe that you were real and I was with you on your ship like I'd always dreamed about. You were blind and I...I totally took advantage of that. I'm so sorry. You were still like a celebrity to me."

"So you took stalker pictures of me?"

Her face burned. "Only a few…at first."

He chuckled and kept swiping through the pictures. "I still can't believe you took a picture of me coming out of the bathroom."

"It wasn't like I was waiting for you or anything!" Now that she remembered the pictures, the moment she had taken that specific picture came back to her. "I was coming back from a long night of work and heading to my room. Then you just popped out of the bathroom in your towel, humming to yourself like you were alone on the ship or something. I kind of squeaked and try to hide in the hallway but then I remembered that you couldn't even see me. I know I shouldn't have taken a picture but it's so blurry because I knew it was wrong and I was so scared that someone would catch me." She gazed up at him, full of regret. "Your body was just…"

"Just what?"

"You know what I think about your body."

He grinned wickedly. "A little reminder never hurts."

She sat up, finally, and drew her knees to her chest. "I'm not going to give you an ego boost right now. Not when you've just realized how much of a freak I was back then."

"Hey." Thorne knee-walked over to her. "You're not a freak. Not now, not then." He waved the portscreen in the air. "Is it a little disconcerting that you took photos of me coming out of the shower?"

"Carswell—"

"Yes, it probably is. But that was ten years ago. We had a weird celebrity crush dynamic from the start, and you'd been locked up in a Satellite for half your life. These pictures could have been a lot creepier, trust me. I think it's kind of hilarious and I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?"

"Of course not. I look good in a lot of these pictures."

"And you're not weirded out?"

"Maybe I would've been back then. But right now, it's kinda turning me on."

She shoved him away. "Only you would get turned on by pictures of yourself."

He laughed. "That's not what I meant. I like the idea of you thinking about me and—"

"Look," she said, growing a little frustrated, "if I remember correctly, there's only like three of you in a towel, and they're all blurry because I never attempted it again. Most of the photos I took because there were little things about you that I wanted to remember about you: You piloting the Rampion, you making plans in your room, you playing Royals with Cinder, you joking around with Iko. Just...the look on your face when you were happy about something. I thought I would need them after the revolution to remember you by. I never thought in a million years that if we both survived, we'd end up together. I'm so, so sorry that I invaded your privacy like that."

He stared at her for a long time, then got off his knees and walked to the kitchen. Cress let out a deep sigh and got to her feet. She followed him into the kitchen and wished she could tell her younger self to calm down a little around Captain Carswell Thorne. That he was human too, and that he had his flaws just like she had hers.

Thorne was at their center aisle, holding his own portscreen. He settled into one of the bar stools and waved her over.

Cress shuffled over and took a seat next to him.

"Do you ever go through my port?" he asked.

"I would never," she said, offended.

"I don't mean, like, you hack into my data. I was just curious if you've ever picked it up by accident and thought it was yours and thumbed through it or anything."

"I would never confuse your port with mine." Her government-issued portscreen was one of the latest models and had so much encryption that it would make any normal citizen's mind spin.

"I know, smarty-pants. And I know you're extra careful these days not to invade anyone's privacy by hacking into things you shouldn't."

It was true. After all of the hacking she had done for Sybil, she no longer enjoyed digging up personal information about anyone.

"But we're married, Cress," Thorne continued, "and maybe it's time you have a look."

"A look at what?"

It took Thorne a moment to open his files, something she had gotten used to quite quickly with him. She could pull up anything in a matter of seconds but he had to fumble through several folders to find the right one. He pressed on the folder called _Cress_.

"Here," he said.

Cress began scrolling through the pictures. She was in every one of them.

Cress working on her port.

Cress walking in front of him.

Cress sitting in the captain's chair of the Rampion.

Cress laughing.

Cress holding Kai and Cinder's daughter.

Cress running along the beach.

Cress lying in bed, her face scrunched up as she read something intently.

Cress sleeping.

"I remember you taking some of these," she murmured.

"Some of them, maybe," he said. "But sometimes when I look at you, I get this overwhelming sense of disbelief you picked me out of everyone. Plus, I just like having spontaneous pictures of you. I look through them a lot when we're apart. So I get why you did what you did."

"That's really sweet, Carswell. But we're married. It's a little different."

He winked at her. "Maybe a little. But still. Point is, I love you."

"I love you too. Thanks for understanding."

He kissed her gently, and then she went back to looking at the photos of herself. She had to admit, she could understand why he'd wanted to see what pictures she had taken of him. Seeing the small nuances of herself that he had captured when she wasn't looking gave her a whole new insight into what her husband thought of her.

But then the pictures of Cress stopped, and suddenly something else entirely was on the screen.

"Oh, _that_ I didn't mean to show you," he said quickly.

She flipped to the next picture, and the next, only to find more. Her heart thudded against her chest. "C-Captain?" she asked.

His cheeks had a little bit of red now too, but he smiled his charming, dimpled grin anyway as he took the port from her. Only she could tell he was just as nervous as her.

"Are you…?" she said.

He put the portscreen down and took her hands in his. "I've been thinking about it, yeah."

"You have pictures of _cribs_ on your port."

"Well, I wanted to…be more informed…before we talked about it. I mean, I think I'm ready. We've been together for ten years, we've been married for six, and I'm turning 31 this year. I know you're only 26 but maybe…we could talk about adding a third individual to the Thorne family." He dropped his eyes. "If you like. And not necessarily anytime soon."

Cress tipped his chin up so he'd look at her. She kissed him slowly, communicating what she felt with just her lips. He kissed her harder, and Cress's nerves fell away, and so did her shame at taking pictures of him ten years ago. All she could think about was that she still had Thorne, her hero, her Captain, her liquid medicine—the love of her life. And he still loved her too.

Maybe soon they'd have someone else to shower that love on.

"So, what do you think?" Thorne said, his lips red and his eyes dazed, but no longer from sleep.

"I think I'd like that. Maybe not right now, but in the next year or so."

"Yeah?"

"I'd love to see what you've researched," she added, nodding at his portscreen. "Are you planning on building a crib?"

"No way. I just wanted to make sure that there were cribs we could easily collapse and bring on the Rampion. Those are some models I'm looking into. It would need to be sturdier too, for take-off and landing."

"I'm sure I would hold our baby during both," she said with a barely restrained laugh.

"Is that a jab at my flying skills?"

"Never," she said dramatically.

He tickled her and she screamed.

"I really want to hear about more of what you've looked into," she said when they had both stopped playing.

Thorne scooped Cress up in his arms instead and walked her out of the kitchen. "Saturdays aren't for work."

"Hey!" she said, giggling as he carried her up the stairs. "There's no time for this. I've got to erase all evidence that I was madly in love with you!"

He gave no heed to her words and kicked open their bedroom door. Their bed was still unmade, as it always was when Thorne was the last one to wake. Gently, he dropped her onto it.

He crawled onto the bed and lowered himself over her. "I'll show you madly in love, Mrs. Thorne."

* * *

 _Hope you liked my contribution for the TLC Ship Weeks's "Photograph" prompt. Please leave a review. :) I'm so happy to write happy, post-canon Cresswell again. And if you're wondering where the nickname 'Moon Swoon' comes from, check out Chapter 3 of this one-shot series, entitled "First Name Basis."_


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